


Retaliation

by BellasHope



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellasHope/pseuds/BellasHope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off 5/2/16 RAW. That rampage Roman went on that night wasn't scripted and AJ wants to know why he got attacked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retaliation

“Where is he? Where the hell is that son of bitch, huh?!”

It’s nothing but confusion and rage fueling AJ’s fire. He’s running on a one track mind, each thought having only questions and no logical reasoning for them.

The only thing AJ’s completely sure and aware about is that every inch of his body hurts like a motherfucker and that it was all Roman Reigns’ fault.

The Georgian stalks the long corridors of the stadium’s backstage, resisting the urge to push any and every body that blocks his path. He’s on a rampage, can nobody see that? And why were there no answers to his questions?

Everything’s red as he storms down some random hallway. Red and Roman.

He stops when someone bumps into him, though it’s the other way around. The referee trying to pass him by happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As much as he tries to squeeze against the wall and avoid the steaming wrestler barreling his way, he’s unsuccessful.

AJ falls back a step, turning his rage on the poor man. His head torques down, brown irises glaring hellfire and murder. His hand shoots out, grabbing the ref by his striped collar, pulling him close and off of his feet.

“Where is he?!”

“W-who?”

“Reigns! I know you know. It’s your job, ain’t it? Tell me where the hell he is!”

“I-I don’t know, I promise! Maybe in his dressing room? I think? Please, I’m sorry…”

AJ drops the blubbering man to the floor, not particularly caring for his apologies, not caring about the man at all, and he turns around to storm to his new destination. All he heard was Roman being in his dressing room and that’s all he needed.

Of course, the motherfucker would be in his own personal dressing room. Divas need their space, don’t they? AJ scoffs, sending everybody in his way scurrying the other direction. He wouldn’t be surprised if Roman’s had his own personal space even before being the champ. The perks of having family ties must be great.

_Family ties…_

That’s the whole reason why he’s so pissed, why Roman’s in a pile of shit in his mind. It wasn’t his fault the Usos thought it be an awesome idea to hit him from behind with a chair. It wasn’t his fault that he retaliated, who wouldn’t? Who did they think he was?

AJ Styles bows to no man, especially some piss poor tag team who want to take the coward’s way out and play dirty. He even spared their undeserving cousin and this was the thanks he gets? No… It wasn’t going to end like this. Not on Reigns’ terms.

Lost in thought, AJ doesn’t even know he’s arrived at Roman’s room until he realizes his fist is banging down the door. He stops, but the damage is done, and Roman’s quick to open the door.

The champ looks the same, hasn’t really had a chance to change out of his gear (though the latches on his vest are undone, as well as the belt around his pants), save for his drying waterfall-like mane in a low messy ponytail.

The scowl Roman wears, obviously pissed somebody had the audacity to stop him in the middle of undressing, smoothly transitions into a smirk. He scoffs and goes to close the door in AJ’s face, but AJ slams his forearm to the door and forces himself through.

“Don’t you even fuckin’ try, Reigns.”

“I don’t remember inviting you inside, Styles.”

AJ ignores the comment and enters the room anyway. He can’t help but to look around, and he finds himself getting more pissed the longer he stares. The place looks like a fucking movie star’s dressing room. It even has a vanity and AJ’s very close to punching it out. Instead, he turns on his heel, focusing his attention on Roman.

“What the FUCK was that for? Why did you do that?!” He seethes.

Roman’s still got that smirk on his face, smugness just oozing out of the man. AJ can feel it from where he stands, and it makes him twitch uncomfortably, makes him want to look away, but he’d be damned if he backed down now.

“Do what?” Roman answers after a tense moment. His smirk dies a little and he crosses his arms around his chest. The flex of muscles doesn’t go unnoticed by AJ. Actually, it keeps his mouth shut, not liking the faint, yet potent show of dominance.

Roman had no right to be this way. He fucked up. He was the rookie in all this, the undeserving. AJ’s fire burned even hotter and he balled his hands into fists, not used to kind of… challenge. He sees Roman’s metal colored irises glaring at his hands and his mouth quirks up again. AJ’s scowl drops into a frown and he relaxes his grip, knowing Roman’s spotted a weakness.

Silver eyes flicker back up and Roman huffs a humorless chuckle. “Give you what you deserve?” He continues, taking a step forward.

“That wasn’t a part of the match.” AJ’s quick to point out.

“Yeah, neither was your boys holdin' me up like a sacrifice for you to get some cheap ass shot, but look what happened.” Roman shoots back just as fast.

“But I didn’t hit you!”

“You hit somethin’ of _mine_.”

AJ grits his teeth, not believing he was actually arguing with someone like Roman Reigns. He was above this. There was no reason he should be wasting his time on Roman. There was no reason he shouldn’t have the championship around his waist. There should be no reason why his brain forced him to take a step back as Roman came closer into his personal space.

“They hit me first!” AJ looked away again, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. That wasn’t supposed to come out sounding so childish, but it did, and AJ wants to leave. Now. The longer he stays and the closer Roman gets, the more his rage turns into embarrassment and anxiousness. But his pride, he knows, won’t let him. Not to mention, Roman’s large frame blocking his escape.

This time, Roman lets out a full chuckle.

“Did they take your candy too?” He asks in a high pitched, condescending voice. AJ puts his eyes back on Roman, hesitant to answer now. Anything he says, Roman finds a way to turn it back on him, whether with words, or just simply his presence.

“Look…” He begins, trying to choose his words carefully. “It was an eye for an eye. They hit me first and I retaliated. Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

“I did.” Roman rumbles and AJ ignores the shot to the gut it gives him. Roman looks him up and down, places one of his fingers on AJ’s shirtless side where a bruise appears to be blooming. AJ grinds his teeth, hisses in pain, and involuntarily moves away from the touch.

Roman’s smirk jumps back to life from the response. “Thought you’d get that when I threw your ass through a table.” He touches AJ again, this time on his hip. One finger first, then two, like he’s testing the waters. “No hard feelings… Just an eye for an eye, right?”

“It wasn’t your place.” AJ retorts, once again, lacking the heat he wants to it. He’s more focused on Roman touching him, the warmth this man radiates. How easy it is to fall into it without thought.

“Excuse me?” Roman growls, anger crossing his handsome features. He takes his hand away and AJ in shock from the wave of disappointment he feels from it.

“No, Styles. That wasn’t your place. This isn’t your place. WWE isn’t your place. The champion’s circle isn’t your place.” The Samoan gets in his face and AJ’s forgotten how to breathe, as he takes in Roman’s beauty up close. Coupled with his pulsating anger and alpha-like aura, it’s damn near nauseating.

“It’s _mine_.” Roman’s eyes fall again, making AJ wonder what’s so interesting about his appearance that champ can’t keep direct eye contact. He stops when Roman pokes that bruise spot from earlier and he can’t help the yelp that slips past his lips.

“Like that. That.” Roman pokes it again.

“Is mine.” He pokes at another bruised mark, one on his shoulder.

“This is mine.” Roman reaches his hand around, touches a deep scratch on AJ’s back, the shiver shaking AJ’s spine not going unnoticed.

“That’s mine.” His fingertips trail down AJ’s back, sit at the top of his ass, and that makes AJ snap back into his right mind.

The number one contender slaps Roman’s hand away and takes a step back.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asks shakily, hand on his heart, feeling it pound furiously. Roman smiles, a sharp, dangerous thing, and follows AJ move for move, closing the space between them again.

“Retaliation.” He answers simply and ignites AJ.

“For what?!” He demands. “I didn’t do shit to you! I didn’t hit you! The thing with your cousins weren’t anything personal! I just want a fucking apology for that shit you pulled. It really fucking hurt! A-And… I ain’t no God damn homo!”

Roman rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Fuck you, Styles.”

Now, it’s nothing but disbelief on AJ’s side. “… What?”

“I said, fuck you. Fuck you and that fucking ‘better than thou’ horse you came in on. Who are you trying to fool?” Roman stares AJ down and AJ find himself frozen, gazing into those heated eyes, entranced.

“I know what happened. I know they hit you first. I know you didn’t try to hit me. I know why you didn’t do all that shit. The question is, do you know why?”

“Because I’m a decent human being?”

“Because you like me.” Roman finished, annoyed. AJ’s mouth drops, his heart follows suit, all the way down to his shoes. No… No. That’s not true. AJ doesn’t like Roman… He’s not gay! And even if he was, Roman would be the last person on Earth—

Roman smiles again, a small laugh passing his lips and AJ feels that melting feeling again. The heart in his shoes flutters at that deep music. He shakes his head, now genuinely looking for some kind of escape.

“N-No… I’m not…”

“Gay, yeah, I know, I heard. Neither am I, but I’m feelin’ you.” Roman interrupts, making sure no distance is between them. One of his hands brush against that bruise on AJ’s ribs and the other caresses the one on his neck.

AJ can’t bring himself to move, can’t quite push Roman away either. The champ’s hands are too magical. He’s falling into Roman’s touch without his good consciousness’ permission. It feels better. Everything feels better. The hand on his neck slides up, cups his cheek. AJ internally scolds himself for leaning into it, as Roman leans down.

“And… I know you’ve been feelin’ me too…”

It’s touch and go from there. All logic and reasoning out the window as Roman connects their lips and AJ seals it by not running away from.

Roman’s tongue comes into play early, tracing AJ’s lips, trying to penetrate them and AJ lets it happen, opening his mouth and tentatively meeting Roman with his. They dance and it’s nothing but relief and arousal flooding AJ’s system.

Roman bites at his bottom lip, nuzzling it between his teeth before slowly letting it go. It makes AJ release a small groan and his knees wobble. He stares at AJ, their foreheads resting against each other, giving the older man the benefit of the doubt to process what happened.

AJ stands there, eyes closed, hands tensely glued to his sides, breathing heavily. Roman pushes him to respond, pressing a little kiss to AJ’s lips once, then twice. The third time AJ moves, his head turns and Roman’s ends up pecking his cheek instead.

“… I’m not sayin’ you’re right.” AJ begins after a pause. “But if you ‘knew’, why did you hurt me like that…?”

Roman frowns and leans away slightly. “You deserved it.”

AJ turns his head to face Roman again, wearing a mask anger and shock. He opens his mouth to speak, but Roman beats him to the punch.

“You still hurt my family. I’m not just gonna let that fly. And feelings or not, you’re still gunnin’ for me. Tryna take what I’ve been workin’ my ass off to get and you think it’s so fuckin’ easy. I don’t appreciate not being taken seriously.”

He takes AJ’s hand into his, locking their fingers together, and regains the lost space. He stares at it, curiously, as if pondering the potential in this situation, this relationship, by the fit of their hands.

“It was punishment. Me beating your ass into next week was for my cousins.” Roman looks up and AJ notices the grey darken significantly. The hold on his hand tightens, almost to where it hurts, then yanks him forward, leaving AJ chest to chest with Roman. Roman’s other hand slips around his waist, promising no way of fleeing.

“This is punishment for underestimating me and thinking you can walk in here and take what’s mine.”


End file.
